Effortless
by smc-27
Summary: He's different in more noticeable, more important ways. For one, he isn't breaking her heart. She thinks that's pretty crucial. Sometimes he's like Lucas. Sometimes he's nothing like Lucas. She really doesn't know when she loves him more. Julian/Peyton OS


**A/N: **You guys know that I can basically ship Peyton with anyone. Since we got just those few little flashbacks to the Julian/Peyton relationship, I thought I'd fill in some of the blanks.

**----**

It's effortless, really, with Julian. It's not hard, and it doesn't hurt, and maybe that all leads her to believe that it means more than it really does.

It's easy because when they met (again, for the second time) there were no expectations. He didn't think she needed saving or fixing or any of that. Well, maybe he did. She was crying, and he seemed insistent on making her stop, but she assumed he probably didn't honestly care one way or the other. Maybe that was why she found herself walking away with him so easily.

And she didn't want to cry. She didn't want to be outside that store. She wanted to be with Lucas, to have him say that it was still her and he still loved her and they'd make it work. For him to apologize and to be able to tell him that she'd marry him now, tomorrow, 10 years from now, whenever.

But none of that happened, and it was all a little idealistic anyway.

Julian was charming and sarcastic and sweet in that way like he didn't want to let her know he was sweet.

They met when she needed them to. There's a part of her that still wonders how long she would have cried alone in her apartment that day (week, month) if she hadn't met him and let him take her mind off things.

When she's with him she forgets _everything_. There's no Tree Hill. There's no Lucas and there's no messed up history. There's no Brooke (there already kind of isn't, since she's moved to New York and gotten important). There's no familial dysfunction. She doesn't have a brother in Iraq and a father in the middle of the Atlantic. She isn't floundering in a job she wants _so badly_ to love. There are no tears she wants to cry, and there's no reason not to smile. He's funny and refreshing and he makes her forget all about it. All of it.

It takes her almost three weeks to realize that's a _really_ good thing.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" he asks. He's not even looking at her. He can just tell she's looking at him.

"I'm not!"

"You are. What? I look good today, right? It's this shirt," he says. He's smiling, and he's totally serious, and she likes that confidence.

They're standing, sifting through bins at the big used vinyl place 10 blocks from her apartment. It's his favourite record store, and it's her favourite record store, and she wonders how they've never run into each other there before. She's there twice a week, and he insists he's always gone there just as often.

Now they go together.

And he does look good today. He's wearing a brown cashmere v-neck sweater with a white tee shirt underneath, and a pair of jeans that she loves on him. His messenger bag is slung across his chest, just like it usually is, and he looks...really, really good.

"No," she says quietly. He glances at her and grins. "No, I mean, you look good, but..."

"But?"

"I really like hanging out with you," she admits for the first time.

He's known it. He knows she's not the kind of girl who'd spend time with someone if she didn't enjoy herself. He knows the kisses they've shared have been damn good. He knows she's reluctant to sleep with him, and for some reason he's willing to wait it out, because with _this_ girl, it's really not about that for him.

He knows she's had her heart broken, but he doesn't know the details.

He thinks he wants to fall for her.

He thinks he already is.

"Well, I like hanging out with you, too," he says.

He's surprised when she places her hand on his shoulder and leans over and kisses him quickly. They don't do this in public. They don't touch each other, and they don't hold hands, and they certainly don't kiss. He knows it means something that she's doing it now.

He doesn't say anything about it. He just goes back to looking through the albums before them, and she does the same. He sees her smiling though, and she's blushing a little bit. He smiles to himself.

"Oh my God," he says after a moment. She looks down at what he's got in his hand and he turns to her with an adorable awe-struck expression on his face. "Freak Show."

"Silverchair. Nice."

"No," he says. He flips it over and shakes his head. "Freak show_ on vinyl_."

"You already have that record," she points out.

"This is the import. Do you have any idea how rare this is?" he asks. He looks at her again, and he's so cute and so sexy and so into music and all she wants to do is kiss him and go to his place and make out as they listen to the record she knows he's about to buy. "What?"

"Nothing!" she laughs.

"You're weird today." She smiles at him and there's something in her eyes that makes his heart race. She leans a little closer to him and he places his hand on her hip, just because he wants to.

She toys with the bottom of his sweater at his hip, and he looks down momentarily, then back to her face. "It's this shirt."

She's making him lose his mind, and he's 100 per cent certain that she knows it. She smiles at him and walks away, and for a moment, he's frozen in place.

They spend the rest of their afternoon at his place, making out and listening to the record he's just purchased.

----

He's a Dodgers fan. She knows nothing about baseball. He wants to teach her.

He knocks on her door one day (she keeps it locked now; she only ever really left it unlocked for one reason, one person) and when she pulls it open, he smiles at what she's wearing.

Not much of anything, really.

She's wearing a tank top with no bra underneath, and a pair of denim shorts he can tell she's had forever. Her hair is pulled into a ponytail, and her cheeks are flushed, and he doesn't care anymore about the tickets in his back pocket or the game that starts in an hour.

"Hi," she says, like she's surprised to see him. She definitely is. He never calls before coming over. She likes that he doesn't.

He's leering at her. He doesn't care. Neither does she. "Hi."

"What's _that_?" she asks, smiling as she looks at the bag in his hands. "Is it a _present_?"

"Maybe," he says, stepping into the apartment. "But there are two conditions. No! Three."

"Oh. That's mean," she says, faking a pout. "What are they?"

"You have to kiss me to get it," he says.

She smiles a little and he puts his hand on her hip. She leans forward to peck his lips, but he's having none of that. He doesn't let her go when she tries to pull away, and she moans when his tongue sweeps into her mouth. She doesn't know how long that kiss lasts, but she can't really complain. It's already hot, and her temperature is rising, but it doesn't matter, because she really loves kissing him.

"'Kay," she says, making him chuckle. Her eyes are still closed, and he kisses her forehead before letting go of her. "What else?"

"You have to come to the game with me today," he says, pulling those tickets from his pocket. She smiles and nods, and he reaches into the bag, pulling out a royal blue tee shirt with the Dodgers logo written in that white cursive on the front. She takes it from him and holds it in her hands, then kisses him quickly. "So, you'll come?"

"Yeah," she says. She's happy to go with him.

She's happy he's not a basketball fan.

She turns to walk into her bedroom to change, but he stops her. "One more condition," he reminds her. She looks at him questioningly. "You have to keep those shorts on."

"Julian, _no_," she says seriously, shaking her head. "These shorts are so...gross! And old, and...they barely cover everything."

"Exactly," he says, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Julian..."

"They're sexy. They'll look great with the tee shirt," he tells her. She rolls her eyes and sighs. "And they cover your ass. They aren't obscene."

"You're...They're borderline."

"They're not," he insists seriously. "Believe me. I checked when you were walking away just now."

Her jaw drops, but she's still smiling. "Perv!"

"Whatever. Go change. Game's in an hour."

She lets out a huff and turns on her heel and through her bedroom door, but she's grinning the whole time. She loves that he's a little demanding and kind of abrasive. He's different. Even the sweet things he does are buried in sarcasm and commands.

"Can I at least put on a bra?" she shouts

He seriously considers saying no. "I'll allow it," he says after a moment. He hears her laughter float through the apartment, and he can't help but smile.

They still don't hold hands in public, and that's okay with him. He's never really been that guy, and he doesn't care. Except that he does. Because with _this_ girl, with Peyton, he wants to hold her hand and kiss her while they wait for the bus and put his hand on the small of her back as they walk. He wants to do all that, and she won't let him. It's ironic, he thinks, that when he finally meets a girl he cares about enough to be that guy with, she doesn't want him to be that guy. The others begged him for it and he refused. Now he's the one, well, not begging. But he wants it and she doesn't. He'd complain, but that's part of the reason he thinks they're perfect for one another.

As they walk to their seats, he sees the way men of all ages are looking at her. She's oblivious to it. He loves that she is - that she's not the kind of girl who craves or even really wants that attention. He hates, however, that he can't just prove to them all that she's his girl.

But really? He doesn't know if she is. They hang out all the time and kiss and he's not seeing anyone else, and he knows that she isn't either. But she hasn't asked him what he wants, and he's admittedly a little scared to ask her what she wants. So he's just assuming she's his girlfriend. He doesn't think it's too far off.

He's so cute during the game that she smiles at him almost constantly. He cheers and claps like he's got a million dollars riding on the score, and she laughs at him when he nearly spills his beer when Ethier hits a home run. Peyton eats popcorn and Julian explains certain plays, and why his favourite players are his favourite players. He drapes his arm over the back of her seat, and she doesn't stop him. He catches her staring, and she rolls her eyes when he shoots her that look he always gives her when he catches her.

He runs into a friend of his just as they've stepped out of the stadium, and Peyton smiles until she's introduced.

And then she's introduced.

"Danny, this is my girlfriend, Peyton," Julian says. She looks at him in shock for a second before extending her hand to the stranger.

She doesn't hear anything else after that.

She's pissed that he's just jumped to that conclusion without them even talking about it. Maybe she should have initiated that conversation, but the truth is, she doesn't know what she wants. She thinks about Lucas pretty frequently, and she talks to Nathan every once in a while, and sometimes, her mind will wander to Jake. That's it. That's her dating history and all her heartache wrapped up in three men. She doesn't know if she wants there to be a fourth yet. She doesn't know if she wants to enter into this serious, real, defined relationship and have to give her heart away. Or at least what's left of it.

Or she just doesn't want to give anyone the chance to _break_ her heart. Again.

She says the right things at the right times before they walk away from Julian's friend, and she isn't rude. It's not until they're on their way back to her place that Julian notices that she's giving him the iciest shoulder he's ever received.

"What's wrong?" he asks. They've had a great day. He doesn't know where they went wrong.

"Nothing."

"Peyton," he says admonishingly. "What is it?"

She turns to him and he sees fire in her eyes and he's legitimately scared. He isn't scared because she's got a quick temper, he's scared because this...whatever it is...between them is young and fragile, and it's still in that stage where one fight could end the whole thing.

"I am not your girlfriend," she tells him in no uncertain terms. He reels back a little bit, because he's genuinely a little surprised. "And usually you talk to someone before you start throwing around words like that."

He sighs and puts his hand on his hip. They're standing in the middle of the sidewalk in L.A. and it's hot and sunny and she looks so damn sexy that he hates himself for ever putting himself in this position. She's right, he should have talked to her.

But...

But they've been doing this for a month, and they've seen each other at least three times a week, and if she's not his girlfriend, then what the hell is she?

"I won't apologize for it," he says defiantly. He's not sure who's more stubborn between the two of them, but he know neither of them will back down, especially when they both feel they're right.

"Well...Thanks for letting me know you decided I'm your girlfriend! Anything else I should know?" she asks irately. She mimics his stance, putting one hand on her hip and shifting her weight.

For the very, very first time, he honestly hates himself for not making her sleep with him. Not _making_ her, but...Well, he's a charming guy. Peyton is different, so he hasn't pushed her. She's special, and he likes her that way. He likes her like this, too. Angry and glaring at him and sweating a little bit in the heat; wearing a Dodgers tee shirt and those shorts and her Cons. He wishes he'd slept with her before it all ended. It's selfish and stupid and just such a _guy_ thing to think, but it's there in his head.

"What?!" she shouts when he doesn't say anything.

"You're the weirdest girl I've ever met," he says seriously. There are a few people around them taking notice of this fight, but he doesn't care and she doesn't seem to either. "I've never met anyone in my life who liked being miserable as much as you do."

"Miser...You _arrogant_...Ugh!" she says in frustration. The grin he sends her doesn't help him at all. "I don't like you!"

He laughs, because she's being childish. She's also lying through her teeth. "Yes, you do. And that's the problem."

"Problem," she states indignantly. "It's not a problem."

"Yes it is," he insists. He takes a step closer to her so they can speak a little more quietly. "I don't know what happened to you, because you won't talk about it," he feels the need to add, "but you are so _damn_ scared of letting _any_one get close to you, that you ignore what you feel because you think that's easier."

She smiles, but it's bitter, and she shakes her head. "You think you know me so well."

"I do. At least a little bit. You won't let me get to know you better."

"That's _your_ fault," she spits out. It's not. Everything he's just said is so true that she's almost crying. No one has ever told it to her in such simple terms, and she should be hugging him and thanking him for opening her eyes.

"I don't think it is," he tells her.

She had no idea she was so transparent.

"Whatever," she mutters.

He's shaking his head, rolling his eyes, and doing a bunch of other things to show how infuriated he is. She knows she's being difficult. But the thing is, if everything he's just said is true (and it so is) shouldn't she take some time and figure out how to not be so scared? Maybe she needs to figure herself out before she can figure the rest out.

Maybe she just knows that fear isn't going away.

"I want you to be my girlfriend. Maybe we should have talked about that, but...Look, if it's not what you want, just say so." She avoids his eyes and crosses her arms, and he has his answer before she even says a word. "Fine."

She looks at him, and she thinks he might look vaguely hurt, but the selfish bitch in her thinks that it's nice to not be the one hurting for once. "So...we're done here?" she asks.

He gets the feeling she wants him to say yes, that she's wanted an out.

Well, he doesn't want to, but he'll give her one. He's too arrogant to just admit that he wants to talk it out, and he's too self-assured to be with someone who doesn't want to be with him.

"Yeah," he says, laughing bitterly. "We're done here."

He watches her walking away, and he wonders if anyone's ever said the right words to make her stay. He wonders if anyone's ever legitimately fought for her, and what she'd do if someone did.

He won't be that guy. He's decided it already.

----

She can't stop thinking as she lays in her bed that night. She's thinking of him. She's gotten used to it over the last month, but now it's a different kind of thought.

Something akin to regret.

Because no one has ever laid it out like that for her and been so honest about what they wanted from her right off the bat. Maybe Nathan, but he was so arrogant and cocky that it was a turn off. Julian was harsh enough to let her know he had something like a passion for her, and he told her exactly what she needed to hear.

And it's scaring the hell out of her.

As she lays there, listening to Silverchair (just for a little extra torture), she realizes two things. One, the shirt she's wearing isn't new. It's his. It's a little worn, though she hadn't noticed before, and it smells like him. She finds herself smiling. He wanted her to have it. And two, she's treating this like a breakup, when she made it so very clear that there was nothing to breakup.

She was wrong. So wrong.

And if he can figure all that out about her - all her insecurities - in only a month, she can't help but question what he'd be able to figure out in more time. Maybe she doesn't need to be alone to figure it all out. Maybe she needs to be with him to figure it all out. Maybe no one's ever known her so well, and he's the only one who'll be able to know her _better_.

It's two in the morning when she decides that she should probably return his tee shirt.

----

She's glad that the doorman recognizes her. She's always been nice to him, and she's only ever come to this building alone twice before. The other times, she walked in with Julian next to her. Toby lets her in without questioning what time it is or why she's there, and she only gets nervous or anxious when she steps off the elevator onto Julian's floor.

She stands outside his apartment for at least five minutes before she gets the nerve to knock, because as much as she's thought about this whole scenario, she hasn't actually considered what she's going to say to him.

She hasn't considered that he might not want to hear it.

He opens the door and his hair is all a mess, and he's rubbing his eye, and he's wearing only a pair of boxers. She's never really seen him shirtless before. She decides immediately that it's a shame. She's never denied he's attractive. Why he looks more attractive to her now (shirtlessness aside) is a mystery to her.

When he sees her standing there, wearing his shirt and a pair of jeans, his face changes to one of anger or irritation or...some combination of things she's never honestly seen before.

"Are you fucking insane?" he asks, pulling her through the door by the arm. "You can't just walk around L.A. in the middle of the night!"

"I took a cab, you idiot," she says, because if he's going to be a jerk, she'll be one too. Even though that's not at all why she came over, and he's actually cute when he's concerned about her.

"What are you doing here at...2:30 in the morning?"

She decides he's adorable. He's all groggy and his voice is a little deeper, and _damn_, he's got a nice body.

She decides then and there that she wants to be his girlfriend. She doesn't just want to apologize and reconcile and see where they go from there.

She wants to be his.

"Your shirt," she says.

"It's yours. It was a gift," he says. She notices him smile, and it's then that she realizes she didn't actually bring another shirt, so she probably shouldn't take this one off anyway.

"Okay," she says quietly. He walks over and sits himself down on the couch, and he looks exhausted. She sits down next to him, then stands immediately and starts pacing. "So here's the thing," she starts. "You're right. You _were_ right. I'm...I get scared. I don't like...vulnerability. Probably because I've always gotten hurt when I've been vulnerable, and it's..." She pauses and takes a deep breath and he's smiling a little wider. She ignores it in favour of finishing her point, if she can find it. "I know it's not...It's probably not fair to you or to anyone. Maybe not even to me. But...I don't _want_ to be miserable. And I'm _not_. Not when I'm with _you_, Julian." He doesn't say anything, so maybe against her better judgment, she presses on. "So maybe...maybe I want to be with you. And not be scared. Or sad. Or...whatever. And...can you please say something now, because I feel like I'm totally...naked right now or something, and you're just staring at me like, that and...Just...You go."

He laughs softly when she puts both hands on her hips. "Are you about done?"

She sighs, realizing she's probably just made a complete fool of herself and said a bunch of things he doesn't even want to hear. He's not getting up off the sofa or walking towards her. He's just sitting there, looking at her with that stupid grin (the one she actually loves) and she needs him to _say_ something.

"_Julian_," she says. It's whiny and girly and she almost stomps her foot.

"So, you wanna be my girlfriend?" he asks. He lazily rakes his hand through his hair, and there's a huge part of her that loves that he heard all she just said, but that he isn't dwelling on it.

She honestly wonders if he's telepathic of something. How does he suddenly seem to know exactly what she needs?

She bites her lip and nods her head. She thinks they've talked enough.

She walks over and takes his hand in hers, and he stands. He doesn't kiss her until she's led him back to his bedroom and they're standing next to the bed. She doesn't break eye contact as she unbuttons and unzips her jeans, and he knows exactly what that means.

He helps her off with the rest of her clothes, and he doesn't have to waste anymore time wondering what it'd be like to be with her.

----

The first Saturday morning they wake up together, they wake up far too early for Peyton's liking. She spent the night as his place after going out for dinner and drinks the night before, and she's wearing the button down he'd worn the night before. She's laying comfortably in his bed, but then he gently shakes her shoulder, and she hears him saying her name quietly.

"Why?" she grumbles, pulling the covers up to her chin and burying her face in the pillow.

He smiles, even though she can't see him, because she's so sexy and cute that he can hardly believe it sometimes. "Because we have stuff to do today."

"I don't want to."

"You do too. You said..." he starts. She cuts him off before he can finish. In the form of a death glare. It's quite terrifying.

"Do you not understand that I am not a morning person?" she asks.

"I could turn you into one," he says enticingly. Or hopefully. Something she doesn't really care about in the morning, whatever it is.

"You can be a morning person so I don't have to be," she says sweetly. She rolls onto her back and notices that he's completely dressed and ready for the day.

"How does that work, exactly?" he asks, resting his hand over her stomach.

"Well...You make the coffee so I can have it right away," she says.

"Done." She smiles at him and rests her hand over his.

"And you make sure there's always hot water for my shower."

"I think I can handle that."

"And you kiss me before I get out of bed," she says.

"Hmm. That one I'll have to think about," he teases. He kisses her gently, and she moans against his lips. "Come on. Up."

She rolls onto her side, and he rolls his eyes because he can tell she has no intentions of getting up yet. But she looks so sexy laying there in his shirt and his bed that he almost forgets what they're getting up to that day.

"Peyton, you have to get up."

"I don't _have to_ do anything," she says childishly. "And you can't make me."

"I think I could," he states.

"Oh yeah? How's that?"

He grins at her and she's about to ask what he's doing, but he pulls the sheets back in one swift motion, and scoops her up into his arms. She squeals his name, but he doesn't put her down. He carries her right out to the kitchen with her kicking her complaining the entire time, and he sets her down on top of the counter. She pouts while he pours her a cup of coffee, and when he thrusts it into her hands, she glares at him and he smiles triumphantly.

"Told ya," he says.

She takes a sip of her coffee and kicks the back of his knee so his leg buckles a little as he walks to the fridge. He turns to scowl at her, and she smiles innocently.

She thinks that maybe she could get used to mornings with him. Maybe he could turn her into a morning person.

----

The first time she meets his father, she's sitting on Julian's sofa in a pair of sweat pants and a black tank top, listening to her iPod and reading a book.

(Care to venture a guess which book?)

The door opens and she looks over and smiles, thinking her boyfriend is back early, but instead she's met with the face of a man she's only seen photos of before. He's in an expensive suit, and he's put together perfectly, and he looks somehow amused and less than impressed at exactly the same time. He closes the door behind him and walks over to where she's sitting, and she stands and tugs her earbuds out quickly.

This isn't how she saw this meeting going.

"Hello," he says, extending his hand. "Paul Norris."

"Peyton Sawyer," she says. "It's nice to meet you."

She's not really sure it is. The stories Julian has told her about his father have made her opinion of him less than favourable. But then again, she's never really dated a guy without daddy issues before (except Jake, but he _was_ a daddy, which was a whole other issue).

"So which one are you?" Paul asks, unbuttoning his jacket to take a seat. "My son is very...Well, let's just say he bores easily."

She thinks that maybe those opinions she's already formed will stand.

"I'm the _only_ one," she insists sternly, leaving no room for him to suggest otherwise. He grins at her and she at least knows where Julian inherited that trait. It's flawless and it somehow makes her at ease and uncomfortable, all at the same time. "He's at a meeting. He'll be back in an hour."

"I'll wait." She wants to say that she'd rather he didn't or that she's not sure Julian would be alright with that, but he speaks before she can. "I own the place. That's why I have a key."

"Oh," she says. She didn't know that.

"He pays me rent," he feels the need to add.

"Right." She stands from her place again and she really doesn't know what the hell to do, but she's got good manners, and she figures she should use them. "Can I get you anything to drink? Water? Club soda?"

"He has club soda?" Paul asks. "Julian hates it."

"I don't," she says with a shrug. He laughs and she smiles. Maybe this won't be so bad.

"Club soda would be great, thank you."

She smiles and nods, then heads into the kitchen, but he follows her, asking her about her work. He sounds interested and maybe a little impressed (though there's really nothing to be impressed about). When she tells him so, he scoffs and says he can tell she has ambition and passion, and that's more than he sees from most people he comes in contact with in this city.

She thinks she might be winning him over.

Stranger still, she thinks he might be winning her over, too.

They're laughing over something another and he's sitting across from her at the kitchen table when Julian walks into the apartment, and his heart falls into his stomach. Sure, they're laughing, but what has his father said about him? He hates that his father just comes and goes as he pleases, and he really hates that Peyton was here alone with him. Not that he doesn't trust his dad (on some levels), but he certainly doesn't trust him with this girl he's crazy about.

"Hi!" Peyton says excitedly when Julian heads into the kitchen. "How was it?"

"It was good," he says. He leans down to kiss her forehead, and he winks to her when he knows Paul isn't looking. "Dad."

"Julian. You didn't tell me you were seeing someone," Paul says, grinning at Peyton, who bows her head.

"I didn't want to give you the chance to break into my apartment and corrupt her with stories of my youth," Julian insists. He reaches for Peyton's glass and takes a sip before she can tell him what it is, and he grimaces and hands it back to her. He's annoyed. That would have looked so much better - tougher - if it had been gin or something.

"Aww. I already know how much of a dork you were," Peyton says, making Paul chuckle. "We were just talking about music. You know your dad went to see The Doors at the Hollywood Bowl?"

"Yeah. I knew that," Julian says before turning to his father. "Dad, what are you doing here?"

The men excuse themselves and Peyton smiles to herself. She thinks that went really well, despite the fact that Julian is so obviously annoyed that his father just showed up unannounced. It's one of his biggest pet peeves. She knows he'll say something about her being alone there with the man, but she knows now that Paul is harmless, even if overly hard on his son. She's still not crazy about that part.

Paul leaves about 20 minutes later, and he calls her into the living room to say goodbye. Peyton stands in front of Julian, just daring him to touch her (he does; can't help himself) and she leans into him a little as she repeats to his father that it was nice to meet him. This time when she says it, there's no lie or uncertainty.

"She's too good for you, Julian. You'll never keep her," Paul says.

And then he's out the door.

Julian's hand grasps her hip a little tighter, and she hates that he feels so insecure, and when she turns to face him, she kisses him hard because she thinks he needs it, and that maybe it'll mean something to him. It does.

"This is what he's like, Peyton. All the time," he says, gesturing to the door.

"I'm sorry," she says quietly. "He just walked in, and..."

"He seems to love you," Julian insists, smiling just a little bit. As irritated as he is, he still kind of loves how easy it is for her to make people, men especially, fall at her feet and worship her.

"Hey," she says, taking his face in her hands. "I am _so far_ from being too good for you."

"Debatable."

"Julian..."

"But are you saying I can keep you?" he asks, flashing her that million-dollar grin.

"Jury's out," she laughs. She slips her arms around his waist and looks up at him. "But maybe I'll stick around for a while. Give you a shot."

"You can stick around as long as you want," he says quietly, leaning in to kiss her.

That's the closest to a promise they've made. She's his girlfriend and he's her boyfriend, and it's been that way for a few months, but they've both been treading lightly. They each know the other isn't seeing anyone else, and that's perfect, but she's wanted something more and he's wanted something more. Neither knew what to say or how to bring it up.

He kind of feels like he might actually have to credit his father with that one.

----

He gets her a job. It's at a new label, and it's further away from her apartment (she notes that it's closer to his), and she's the 'assistant to the assistant', and her boss is an absolute jerk. But the pay is better and the label is bigger, and she was promised she'd be given more 'creative breathing room', whatever that is. Julian worked with one of the A&R guys on a movie he made, and he put in a good word for Peyton.

But two weeks in, she's frustrated, and she's angry, and she hates that she's basically doing the same (or worse) tasks, just in a new office. Sure, the money is better, and when she gets that first paycheck, it'll feel great, but right now it's really hard to remember that. She's got $223 (no, the significance of that sequence of numbers isn't lost on her) in the bank, and she's pissed off, and her jackass boss ran into her that afternoon and spilled his coffee on her.

"Ugh!" she groans as she walks into Julian's place. She had to work late, and he had the day to himself, and she wants him to share in her misery. "I hate it. I hate...Everything. I hate the music industry, and I hate L.A., and I hate...Why are you smiling at me like that."

"Because you are so gonna love me," he says without really thinking. She smiles and puts her hand on her hip, so he breezes past it. "I got us tickets to see Chris Cornell - _tonight_ - at the Roxy."

"Shut _up_!" she cries, her eyes wide as she steps towards him, looking at the tickets he's holding like they're gold. Chris Cornell - in any setting - has always been one of her favourites. "Julian! This show sold out in like, 20 minutes!"

"I know. I have connections," he says coolly. She kisses him and he laughs. He loves it when she gets all excited like this. "Go change. We'll go for sushi at that place you love."

She's very close to screaming that she loves him. She doesn't know if she does. There's something...just something that leads her to believe that she does.

But there's a lot of history and the memory of that other love and how it felt to be in it that's telling her that she doesn't love him.

But as she stands there in one of her favourite places in L.A, listening to one of her favourite musicians, with Julian's hand brushing against hers every time she sways to the beat a little bit, she thinks that maybe she could fall in love with this man. The way he speaks the lyrics of his favourite song in her ear, the way his breath feels on her skin and his hand feels on her hip, she thinks that maybe she's falling hard already.

----

He knows she doesn't know he sees her the day she's in her bed and he's in her kitchen. She's reading (again) and he's doing work, on the phone with people constantly, and he's pacing the apartment as he tries to finish some deal or get someone to do something or...she doesn't know. His work is his work and she (wisely) stays out of it. It's a Saturday, and the weather is nice enough, and she'd rather be outside with him, walking around the city. He's busy, so she's got quiet music on and a book in her hands.

He watches her read the last page of the book, then go right back to page one and start reading again, and he wonders how Lucas Scott can (still) have such an effect on her.

He's too scared to read the book and find out.

----

It's uncharacteristically cold in L.A., and she doesn't want to leave her apartment, so she tells him that she's not going anywhere, and that maybe he should stay and keep her warm. The way she says it is sexy and adorable and girlish, and it's somehow the best thing he's ever heard her say.

So he stays to keep her warm.

They order Chinese and curl up beneath blankets on her sofa to watch the latest installment of a popular mainstream television show they're both shamefully addicted to. She whines and pouts (all teasingly) and pleads with him to sit on her feet because they're so cold, and he glares at her every time she wiggles her toes beneath him. He can't stay mad at her. It's physically impossible. He has no idea how the girl doesn't have every single thing she's ever wanted, because she's so cute and so easy to get along with that it's insane to him that anyone could say no to her. She flashes a genuine smile (he knows which ones are genuine and which ones aren't; they're always genuine with him) and takes his hand beneath the blanket, and he's been in love with her since the night she came over and rambled on and on about him knowing her and making her happy and all but begged to be his girlfriend.

He's been in love with her since the moment she unapologetically started crying during The Shawshank Redemption (one of his all time, top five favourite films). Or the first time she told him she thinks Coldplay is overrated (so does he). Or the first time he walked into her apartment and she had a cold beer in her hand as she watched the Dodger's game (she hadn't known he was coming over). Or how she suggested he turn down the job his father offered him that day at his apartment, because he wanted to make it on his own and if it was going to take a little longer to get somewhere, at least he'd know he'd done it alone (it was exactly what he needed to hear).

He just loves this girl. She supports him, and she makes him laugh, and she takes care of him, and he does all the same things for her. But he hasn't done this in a while, the love thing, and he doesn't know that he wants to say it first. He doesn't know if she feels it or if she'll say it back. He knows it's not about hearing the words said back to him, but he also knows how horrible he'd feel if he didn't hear them.

So the next time she wiggles her toes, he moves so that his body is covering hers and asks if maybe they can find another way to warm her up.

They do.

Sunday morning, she's in his UCLA sweatshirt and a pair of pajama pants, sipping coffee as he sits next to her on the sofa. They spend an absurd amount of time like this; him on her right, his feet propped up on the table, and her with her knees pulled up to her chest as she leans against him.

"We haven't left my apartment since Friday," she notes.

"Nope."

"That's insane."

"Not really," he says casually. He shrugs one shoulder as he tries to find the exact moment (it lasts only 2.3 seconds, he tells her) in Pulp Fiction where he insists Uma Thurman looks sexier than she's ever looked. Peyton doesn't really care at all, but he looks so cute all excited to show her, that she doesn't have the heart to tell him. "I like it here."

"I like having you here," she tells him, and he turns to her and smiles. They have these simple little conversations a lot. She kind of likes it. No big declarations or flowery language or poetic telling of feelings. Just simple statements. It's nice for a change.

She thinks of his apartment, and it feels so far away, and he's always saying he wants to get out from under his father's thumb. She thinks of how much money they're wasting in rent when they spend every night at one of their apartments anyway (always together, never apart). She decides it's insane for him to only have a few items of clothes in her closet and a single toothbrush in the bathroom.

"You should move in with me," she states, more than asks.

Uma is forgotten, and he turns to Peyton and sets the remote in his lap. "What?"

"Move in. You're here all the time anyway," she says. "We'll save money. You won't have to deal with Paul. And I..."

He stops her with a kiss (he does it a lot; she likes to ramble), and he buries his hand in her hair. He'd never really thought of it, living with her. He doesn't know why. He just figured they'd maybe get there eventually.

Being that he's in love with her, he doesn't so much want to wait.

When they leave her apartment for the first time, it's to go to his place to pack things. Paul smiles when they tell him (and Julian's mom) over dinner that they're moving in together, and when he corners Peyton in the kitchen before dessert, he says, "maybe he can keep you after all."

She's thinking the same thing.

----

She doesn't realize that she loves him until he says the words.

It's not that she can't go without saying them after he has, it's that it took seeing him like that, vulnerable and sweet and scared and earnest, to make her realize that her heart is full of love for this man.

It's easy, loving him. There's no pain, and it isn't hard, and she thinks that's why she didn't know it until that moment. She's never had easy. She doesn't have to cry and question everything. It doesn't have to get bad before it gets better, and she doesn't have to compromise anything. She's been conditioned to think that love has to be a constant game of cat and mouse, or some tragic story.

But it doesn't.

It can just be a boy and a girl, sharing an apartment in L.A., being good to one another (great to one another) and good for one another. It can be laughter and smiles and secret looks across busy parties, and photos with x's and o's etched onto them. It can be a boy who didn't break her heart before he healed it. It can be simple and sweet. It can be him thinking that she's the best thing that's ever happened to him (he's told her so), and her feeling like maybe this is it. Maybe this is for good.

It's a good _I love you_. It's a good love.

And she's happy.

----

It's not that she's stopped thinking of Lucas. She never could. It's just that she's convinced herself he's a part of her past and not her future. He's just a boy she used to know and love. She's sure he's with someone new, and that's alright because she's with someone new.

But as she thinks about it, she feels her heart do something familiar in her chest. She's used to this, the fear that he's with someone else; the knowledge of as much. She's dealt with it since she was 16 years old, minus 15 months (yes, she knows the exact length of time they dated).

She bites her lip when she lets herself think that it's not alright if he's with someone new. It still makes her want to cry. Julian walks in and finds her standing in the kitchen with a blank expression on her face. When he asks what's wrong, she says nothing, because it's not allowed to be anything.

But maybe it's everything.

----

She fights with him because it's easy and he fights back.

He's not clueless like Nathan was, but he doesn't innately know her like Lucas did. (Does? Anyway...) He legitimately disagrees with her - a lot - and she fights back because it's in her nature to do so. And he lets her. He doesn't placate her with soothing words or tones of voice. He'll stand there and take it every time she yells at him, and she thinks, sometimes, that he's smiling, because it seems like he likes it. He likes that she's not a pushover and that she'll battle him, and he'd get bored if she didn't.

Those arguments are usually resolved after an hour of the silent treatment. She'll go to the bedroom (always; that's her area to cool down), and he'll stay in the living room, and after one of them has realized the fight is ridiculous, she'll walk over to him or he'll walk over to her, and they'll talk softly and apologize and kiss and it'll all be over.

Usually.

But it's their one year anniversary (one year since that night when she went to his place and officially became his girlfriend) and she's forgotten. Well, no she hasn't, but Julian insists she has. They've got plans to go to dinner at their favourite restaurant, then they're going to Malibu on the weekend and staying (alone) at his parents' beach house. He can't wait for this night. He's got it all planned out. He's bought her a beautiful gold necklace that he knows she'll love (he knows her so well, he thinks). He's dressed in his suit already, waiting for her to get home from work. He figured he'd dress early so she'd have the bedroom all to herself. See how considerate he is? How could she not love him.

But when his cell rings at 5:45 (she'd promised to be home at 5:30), and he sees her name on the screen, he knows the night isn't going to go as planned. And he's not so happy about it.

She apologizes, but says she won't be able to make it on time. They've got some sort of crisis, and apparently they need her at the office. He bites his tongue, but he wants to remind her that she's always saying that her job's pointless and no one appreciates her. He doesn't necessarily appreciate that either, since he put in a little more work than she thinks to get her that job in the first place. She tells him that she'll be home as soon as she can, but she doesn't know when that might be, and she can hear it in his voice that he's disappointed, but there's nothing she can do about it.

He changes into jeans and a plain white tee shirt, and he (perhaps stupidly) wonders if or how she's going to make this up to him. He knows in his heart that she's not the kind of girl who makes things up to anyone, and he knows in his heart that he shouldn't be the kind of guy who expects it. So she has to work, it's not like she's blowing him off. Right? But...she kind of is. It's not just dinner, and it's not just any other day. It's their anniversary dinner and the day that's so significant to the both of them.

Or at least it should be.

He's wondering what he means to her at all.

She steps through the door at 9:30 looking exhausted and run down, and he's kind of looking the same, since he's been (definitely stupidly) questioning their entire relationship.

"Hi," she says softly. She walks over to where he's laying on the sofa, and she sits on the floor next to him. She drapes her arm over his stomach and toys with his tee shirt at his side as she sits there facing him, looking remorseful. It doesn't affect him as much as it should. "I'm sorry."

"I know."

She notices that he isn't forgiving her, he's merely telling her that he's sure she's sorry. If he's being honest, he doesn't know what that counts for right now.

"I can't help it if they asked me to work, Julian," she says, trying not to sound defensive, though she's pretty sure she has every right to be.

"Of all the days," he says simply, locking eyes with her. "Of all the days you could stay late."

(There's a flash of a memory in her mind that leaves as quickly as it comes. Her in a hotel room with a ring box in her hand and a boy sleeping on the bed. She'd had to work that night, too...)

"It wasn't a choice."

"Wasn't it?" he asks.

She moves her arm so she's not touching him, and she tilts her head just a little bit, as if to ask if he's really picking a fight over this. She wants to say that she can't believe it, but she kind of can, and she wonders why she's never seen it before. She's kind of come to expect these arguments, though she can tell already that this isn't going to be a little fight.

"Julian," she whispers, "you know I'd never chose work over you."

"Except tonight, you mean," he says, sitting up a little straighter.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize it was such a big deal," she says. She moves to sit atop the coffee table, and he sits up and places his feet on the floor.

"Maybe that's the problem, then," he says. "Peyton, it's...this is kind of an important thing. It's not just a Wednesday."

"I _know_. I know that, and I'm sorry. I don't know how many times I have to say it."

"I kinda wish you didn't have to say it at all."

He stands up and heads for the kitchen, and she sits there for a moment, wondering what she can do to make this better. She ignores that little voice in the back of her head that's telling her that if it doesn't come to her rather quickly, then maybe it's not meant to be better.

"What do you want me to say?" she asks, stepping into the kitchen. She watches him use a knife to pop the cap off his beer; they both know she hates that.

"It's just...Peyton, I would...do you know that I'd do _anything_ for you? Anything. And you can't even go to dinner with me on our anniversary," he says. He's angry and sad and disappointed, and he's somehow all of those things at the same time. He hates that he is. He's never been like this over any other girl.

"Honey, I'm..."

"Don't, okay? Don't get all...We don't do that. Don't call me 'honey' and try to be all sweet," he insists sharply. He's right. They don't really have pet names, other than calling each other 'babe' every now and again. "I'm pretty pissed right now."

"Okay," she says, her tone even as she crosses her arms. She doesn't know what else to say, so she's just not going to say anything. She's going to wait for him to say something. So they stand there in silence as he sips his beer, just looking at one another periodically, but not saying a word. It's five minutes before she can't take it anymore. "Please, just tell me how to make this right."

"Go back in time."

"Julian," she says, furrowing her brow. She knows he's stubborn. He's never been this stubborn. He's always telling her how irritating a trait it is (she's stubborn enough for the both of them).

He just shrugs his shoulders.

So she decides that maybe she doesn't want to make it right anymore. Not right now. They'll resolve this, she knows it, but she doesn't want to have him making her feel like she's the worst girlfriend in the world anymore. She doesn't want to have to defend her actions when he already knows the situation. If she ever wants a promotion (and she does), she'll need to put in a little extra time when they need it. This happened to be the night, and she's apologized, and there's nothing more she can do.

She she turns around and heads into the bedroom and closes the door behind her. She changes into her pajamas, not the dress hanging on the closet door that she steamed in the bathroom the night before, and curls on her bed. On their bed. She hates sleeping without him now, and she doesn't want to do it, and she almost runs back out into the apartment and throws her arms around him and tells him so. But if he's not going to give an inch, neither is she.

She waits for 20 minutes, then she hears him turn the television on, and she resists the urge to scream. She hates this. She hates that he won't just talk to her, accept her apology, then let her kiss him until he understands how much he means to her. She hates that he doesn't just know. (She knows he does, but he's choosing to ignore that tonight.)

After 40 minutes of laying there listening to the faint sounds of the show he's watching, she sighs and knows she needs to find something to do. She doesn't want to put music on; she just spent her entire day listening to a rough mix of the worst artist she's ever heard. The reason she had to stay late was because that artist had to go back into the studio, and Peyton had to be there to get the singer anything her bratty little heart desired.

She reaches for a book from her night stand because she needs something to do, and when she opens that novel, she's calmed immediately. She doesn't question why that is, fearful of the answer. She just reads about home, and it's silly, really, because she basically knows the text by heart at this point, but there's something about physically reading those words that makes her feel connected to that town (she'll be naive and say it's the town she wants to be connected to).

Julian decides he's had enough of this standoff. He's being a jerk and maybe she doesn't deserve it. Sure, she canceled on him, and it sucks, but he should get over it. He doesn't want to fight with her. He wants to tell her this has been an amazing year and that he can't wait to spend two days with her in Malibu.

When he pushes the bedroom door open it's just before midnight, and he expects to find her with her headphones on with tears in her eyes. He doesn't expect her to be asleep with a copy of that book at her side.

He doesn't wake her. He walks over and picks up that book and puts it back on the bookshelf. He can't bear the thought of her sleeping with the damn thing (though he doubts it'd be the first time). He drapes a blanket over her sleeping form, because he loves her and he won't let her be cold, and then he leaves.

Leaves the bedroom, leaves the apartment, leaves the neighbourhood.

They've never had such a huge argument with so few words. But, he thinks, there are really maybe pages and pages of words that he's fighting over. Maybe it's not really fair to tell her so, but he fears that if he brings up that book and its author, that'll start a whole other argument, and then she'd be fighting for Lucas instead of him. He can't handle that.

So there he is in the cold, stark, lifeless bedroom of the apartment that used to be his. His father didn't sell it (_'just in case'_, he'd said) and Julian had been furious at the insinuation that he'd need to move back into it. But even he can admit that it's certainly coming in handy right now.

But he can't sleep without her, and he honestly knows he shouldn't be. She apologized, several times, and now they've spent their entire day apart, save for a quick kiss in the morning when he left early for a meeting, and then those 20 or so minutes of fighting.

He has no idea what time it is when he realizes what an ass he's being and hails a cab back home. Because it is his _home_.

He catches sight of the clock on the wall as he locks the door behind him, and it's 3:30. He hears sniffles coming from the bedroom (and if that sound doesn't break his heart, he doesn't know what will), and when he appears in the doorway, she's laying on her side trying to dry the last of her tears.

"You left," she says, her voice hoarse. She sounds absolutely devastated that he'd just leave, and he feels like the world's biggest jerk.

"I'm sorry," he says, crossing the room to sit next to her on the bed. He rests his hand on her cheek and runs his thumb over the tracks of her tears. "I'm sorry."

"I could be a bitch and tell you I don't want an apology," she mumbles, and he actually grins. "Where did you go?"

"My old place," he admits. She rolls her eyes at him and he shrugs his shoulder lazily.

"Why are we fighting?" she asks, sitting up a little bit. "I just want to be with you, okay? Don't...don't question that."

"I don't want to," he tells her. "I guess I just wanted to spend the night with you."

She smiles and leans forward to kiss him, and she hates that it's been so long since she kissed him last. It's her own fault a little bit, and his fault a little bit, and she's getting the feeling that he hates that they've had to go so long too.

"The night's not over," she says.

"We have work tomorrow."

"We'll call in sick."

She's looking at him like she absolutely needs him, and she's toying with the button of his jeans as he sits there in front of her. He can't say no. Absolutely can't.

They call in sick the next day. They don't go to a fancy dinner or anything, but he gives her the necklace he got her, and she gives him the watch she got him (he never wears one, and it drives her crazy). They order pizza and drink beer and they watch a baseball game, and he doesn't say it, because he knows she'd laugh at him, but he thinks it's probably a better day than the one he had planned.

They never do anything the right way anyway.

----

It's announced that his film will be showing at Sundance, just like he's dreamed of, and Peyton cries when he tells her. He shows up at her office in the middle of the afternoon after he gets the call, and she looks surprised to see him. He leans across her desk and kisses her, and she's definitely shocked. Her coworkers are looking at her (they know her boyfriend, and most of them want him for themselves), and she's only looking at him.

"Um...hi," she says. She stands up and walks around the desk, and the smile he's wearing makes her squint at him. "What?"

"How do you feel about Utah in January?" he asks, his eyes locked with hers.

Her jaw drops and her eyes go wide, and she throws her arms around him. "Julian," she whispers, because she can't find her voice. "I'm so..."

"Stop it," he insists, pulling away a little bit and smiling over the fact that she's crying over it.

"It's...Julian, this is your _dream_," she says.

He wants to tell her that knowing he gets to share it with her is so much better than the accomplishment itself, but it's lame and they don't say things like that, so he just kisses her again.

As soon as she's said that word, she's reminded of that other boy. Dreams coming true and all sorts of promises they both honestly believed. His novel and her music. He's doing so much better than her with all that. He's doing so much without her.

Julian kisses her again and she stops herself from thinking about it. "Sundance," she says softly. "I'm proud of you, you know that?"

He doesn't say anything. He just smiles and nods his head, then he tells her he'll see her at home.

Long after he's gone, she's wondering when her own dreams are going to come true. She doesn't even know what her dreams are anymore.

As she tries to figure out when she lost sight of them, she can think of only one day, and it's a day she's thought of a million times before. She didn't even see _him_ that day, just woke up without him there and that was it. They never really _broke up_, they just kind of _stopped_.

She looks at the photo of she and Julian on her desk, and she lets herself smile. Maybe it's time to forget about all those other dreams and get some new ones. She thinks that maybe some of them will center around Julian.

----

She starts noticing stupid things for stupid reasons.

Well, stupid things for maybe a really good reason (she just ignores that it might be good and calls it stupid instead).

She notices the colour of blue of the eyes of one of Julian's best friends. It's close to a familiar shade, but not quite there. She checks the box-scores in the sports section when she's at work and sees that the little college in North Carolina is doing pretty well. She Googles (she'd never admit it) and sees that everyone's impatiently waiting for the release of another book.

And she notices that Julian has stubble on his jaw as well. He wears his hair messy and his clothes casual; button downs and jeans, most of the time. He's got dimples and and a certain way that he looks at her that makes her _have_ to kiss him.

He's different, too, in a lot more noticeable, more important ways. For one, he isn't breaking her heart. She thinks that's pretty crucial.

Sometimes he's like Lucas, and sometimes he's nothing like Lucas.

She really doesn't know when she loves him more.

----

They spend Christmas in Mexico. Paul insists on paying for the trip, and they can't really turn it down, though Julian would love to. The only saving grace, he says, is that his parents aren't actually taking the trip with them. Peyton just shakes her head, but quietly admits that maybe it'll be fun to just be alone with him on the beach.

She's had a few margaritas (they make them strong at this particular resort) and she's standing on the balcony of their amazing hotel room. Julian comes up behind her and clumsily presses himself against her (he's had a few margaritas, too). He kisses her neck, and she smiles. All week, she's been living in bikinis and sarongs and lightweight dresses, and all week, Julian has been absolutely loving it; he can't keep his hands (or lips) off her.

"Hi," she says, though she left him only five minutes ago.

It's dark out and the moon is full and the waves are crashing. She can see a few people walking along the beach or nightswimming, but she loves just watching it all from where she stands with him holding her like this.

"I love you in Mexico," he says, laughing a bit at how silly that sounds. "We should come back here."

"Maybe someday."

"I love you, you know that?" he asks. It's pointless. She knows. They say it a lot. He likes it that way.

"I love you too," she whispers, leaning back into him a little bit. He toys with the tie of her bikini at her hip, and a shiver runs down her spine.

"Maybe we'll get married someday," he says softly.

Never, ever have they talked about this. It's probably crazy, since they've been together almost a year and a half, but they've never even referenced anything like forever. The only time they've talked about rings was the time he said in passing that his mother insists his wife wear her ring (_'start a tradition'_, she'd explained). They just like being together, and that's enough.

Or at least it was.

But he sees her as his wife. He sees them owning a house in Malibu and maybe having a kid somewhere down the line. He wants all that with her, and he doesn't want to pretend he hasn't thought about it.

"Maybe someday," she repeats.

She turns in his arms and kisses him, and he doesn't see the tears in her eyes (they're not for him), and he doesn't question how fast her heart is beating (she thinks it's something like regret).

----

As much as she hates to admit it, it doesn't surprise her that they break up.

It surprises her how they break up.

Or maybe not.

She's been comparing him to Lucas without his knowledge for so long, and it's not fair, and she shouldn't have done it, and she didn't really mean to.

And she's been attached to that book since the first day they met, and he hasn't said anything about it, and while she's noticed before that he wanted to bring it up, he never did. Maybe she should have. Maybe she shouldn't have cared about the book at all. She didn't mean to do that, either. But Lucas always did make her do things she didn't really mean to...

Julian leaves and she lets him, and he looks heartbroken, and she hates it. She knows she should go after him. She knows she should drop the book and grab the man. He loves her. He's with her. He wants to marry her. He's been amazing to her. Maybe too good.

...Maybe he was temporary...

She cries because it's supposed to be him. Them. The two of them and his movies and her...something (the music doesn't mean as much anymore, not in the capacity she has it). She's supposed to be in a cab on the way to the airport on the way to Sundance to hold his hand through his premier and curl up in a hotel bed when she gets too cold. He's supposed to propose with a flawless diamond (she's seen it; his mother showed her once) and they're supposed to be happy, like they have been all along.

She cries because he almost looked like he expected it, like he was just waiting for it to happen. He handed her that book like he knew all along that it was more important than she ever told him, and that even if she can't admit it out loud yet, she needs it and maybe the man who wrote it.

It's not what she needs (she doesn't think; isn't ready to admit). She needs _him_. Julian.

He knows that he's realized before she has that she doesn't.

After all, he always did seem to know her a little better than she wanted to admit.

_**-Fin-**_


End file.
